


Lucky in Love

by RabbitRunnah



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Insinuation of sexy times but nothing explicit, Jack owns an antique store and Bitty's a regular customer, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 12:16:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15751497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RabbitRunnah/pseuds/RabbitRunnah
Summary: "The majority of Jack’s customers are serious collectors, who keep their finds high on shelves or behind glass. He always appreciates the ones who can look at these old things somebody decided they no longer wanted and see value beyond the price tag."Or, Jack Zimmermann owns an antique store and has a crush on one of his customers.





	Lucky in Love

The blond man is back.

He’s come into Jack’s shop every Wednesday for the past three weeks, always just after noon. Every Wednesday, he heads straight for the small kitchenwares section, spends a minute or two perusing — occasionally picking up an item to inspect it further before gently putting it back — and leaves, empty-handed. On his way out, he always flashes a small-but-brilliant smile at Jack and thanks him for his time.

Jack may or may not have a crush on him.

“I’ve noticed you in here a few times,” Jack says today. “Is there anything I can help you with?” He watches the man pick up a glass pie plate. He turns it over in his hands, seems to assess its weight. He carries it up to Jack’s register. 

“Any more like this?” he asks, setting the plate on the counter. “I’m a collector,” he explains.

Jack nods. “Most of my customers are, of one thing or another.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Blond Man smiles. “I use them, for baking. I don’t just put them away to look at and show off. Things like this are meant to be used.” He turns that brilliant smile on again, and Jack can’t help but return it.

The majority of Jack’s customers are serious collectors, who keep their finds high on shelves or behind glass. He always appreciates the ones who can look at these old things somebody decided they no longer wanted and see value beyond the price tag. “I agree,” he says. “I don’t have any other plates like that right now, but I see them fairly often. They actually have a really interesting history …” 

This is where he typically starts to lose people, but Blond Man looks interested, so Jack keeps going.

“That plate is a Fire-King, by Anchor Hocking. The company started making it in the 1940’s and marketed it to everyday home cooks. The company produced a lot of different styles and colors, but that one, the Jade-ite, is one of the most recognized. It was very common and used in home kitchens and restaurants. A lot of companies gave pieces away as promotional items. But you probably know that, if you’re a collector.”

“I did, but it’s always nice to meet a boy who knows his history,” Blond Man says with a smile. “Although, in your line of work I guess it’s a requirement, right? Funny that something that was so common back then is a collectible today. Maybe some day my grandkids will find the cheap IKEA plates I used in college and think they’ve stumbled upon a treasure.” He takes his wallet out of his pocket. “Do you take credit cards?”

“Kind of have to, these days,” Jack says, swiping the card through the reader on his tablet. He steals a glance at the name on the card. “Thank you, Eric. My name is Jack, by the way. Would you like me to wrap this for you?”

Eric waves him away. “No need to go to the trouble. I think I’ve got this. He slips the plate into the messenger bag he’s carrying. “These things are durable, right? Though, I guess if it breaks I’ll have another excuse to come in.” 

“You don’t need an excuse,” Jack says. “I get new things in all the time. Feel free to come back and browse the next time you’re in the area.”

 

It’s Wednesday, a quarter ’til noon, and Jack would be lying if he said he’s not hoping Eric will stop in this afternoon. He gets a lot of regulars — other collectors who make the rounds, lifestyle bloggers looking for something “vintage” to use in a photo shoot, little old ladies who make a stop at his place part of a weekly outing — but something about Eric made him stand out from all those other customers. Eric had been kind and sincere, and genuinely interested in Jack’s rambling about the history of his purchase. The young lifestyle bloggers wave him off (except for one who always asks Jack to take posed photos of her pretending to shop) and the older women want to tell their own stories. 

It doesn’t hurt that Eric is also cute. That may be why Jack feels a strange frisson of _something_ when the bells on the door chime at noon _exactly_.

This time, Eric approaches Jack at his register instead of heading toward the back. “I made this for you,” he says, setting some sort of bag in front of him. As he unzips it, a delicious aroma fills the air.

“Apple pie?” Jack guesses as Eric lifts a pie, baked in last week’s purchase, out of the bag.

“I told you I was going to use it. Only seems fair to share. I can leave it here or —” Eric grins and pulls a pie cutter, plastic fork, and paper plate out of his bag “— I can cut you a slice now and you can take the rest home for later.”

“I haven’t even had lunch yet,” Jack tries to protest. He doesn’t think he’ll last long. The pie smells really good.

“Oh, hush,” Eric says. “Eating dessert first won’t kill you.” 

“Only if you join me.”

“That’s fair.” Eric expertly lifts a slice out of the plate and slides it onto the paper plate in front of Jack. “It took me a few tries to get used to baking in this. Had to fuss with my usual baking time a little. But I think it’s worth it.” He pulls another plate and a fork out of his bag and serves himself a slice.

“It’s worth it,” Jack says around a mouthful of pie. 

Eric smiles — a little smugly, Jack thinks. “Told you.”

He doesn’t have any other customers at the moment, so Jack feels free to ask Eric about himself. He works for a marketing agency in Boston but they have him in the Providence office on Wednesdays to cover for a co-worker on maternity leave. 

“Your commute must be awful,” Jack says. Boston isn’t _that_ far, but he knows what the traffic is like.

“It’s not too bad,” Eric says. “Besides, I wasn’t really in a position to say no. I manage some of our clients’ social media accounts and Shelley’s a copywriter. I’d like to move up within the company, so.” He shrugs. “This is a good way to ease into that, see if it’s what I really want to do.”

As they talk, Jack finds out Eric graduated from Samwell University near Boston three years ago but is originally from Georgia, which explains the Southern accent. “And what about you?” Eric asks.

“Would you believe I played professional hockey?” Jack asks. Most of his customers don’t care but Eric seems different. 

“Well,” Eric says, ducking his head a little, “I thought you were built like an athlete, but I didn’t want to assume. I don’t see too many jocks in the antique shops I frequent.”

Eric does _not_ look like a jock, current or former, but he listens with interest as Jack explains how he grew up playing in Canada, was drafted at 18, played for the Providence Falconers for eight years, and retired a little earlier than average. “I tore my ACL in the middle of my fifth season, and I never really recovered. After I re-injured it I knew it was time.” The memory still stings, a little. He’d hoped to follow in his father’s footsteps, with a storied career and a few Stanley Cup rings. But one is more than most will get, he concedes.

Eric nods in understanding. “I was a figure skater, for a bit. Got pretty far, too, but we ended up moving away from my coach and that was the end of that dream.”

“Samwell, though,” Jack says. “That’s not a bad second act. You must be pretty smart.” Eric blushes a little. “I mean, my mom went there, and she’s one of the smartest people I know.”

“I always had good test scores,” Eric admits, “but I wasn’t the best student. I’ll tell you a secret: I think they liked my application. I had a pretty popular baking vlog at the time, and I sent in a video as part of my application. I graduated by the skin of my teeth. I still have nightmares that they’re going to tell me there was a mistake in the grading of my French final and I didn’t actually pass.”

“If that happens, I’ll tutor you,” Jack promises.

“Oh, so you’re _French-_ Canadian,” Eric chirps.

“Oui.” 

Eric laughs a little and starts to ask Jack if he’d like another slice of pie, but the door chimes again and another customer enters. “I’m just gonna take a look back there,” he tells Jack, “but feel free to share the pie.”

A few minutes later, he returns with a pretty glass coffee percolator and two solid blue Fiestaware mugs. “Always thought these percolators were cute,” he explains as Jack rings him up. 

“Little more work than those single-cup brewers, eh?” Jack has one of those at home. It gets the job done. His parents disagree and keep a French press at his place for when they visit.

“A little more work,” Eric concedes. “But some things are worth the wait.” He pulls a tote bag out of his messenger bag and carefully places his purchases inside.

When Jack tries to pack up the pie, Eric waves him off. “You go ahead and share that with your customers today, take a slice home for later. I’ll get the plate when I see you again.” 

 

Jack is only slightly surprised when Eric shows up with a thermos full of coffee the following Wednesday. “I brewed it at home in my new percolator before work, and put it in here to keep it hot,” he explains. “Would you like a cup?”

In this moment, Jack decides Eric Bittle is utterly charming. 

They drink their coffee — Eric thought of everything and brought the mugs, sugar packets, and tiny packets of creamer — and pick up their conversation where they left off the previous week.

“You never told me how you went from pro athlete to antique store proprietor,” Eric says.

“Ah. That’s kind of boring.”

“Nothing you have told me about yourself is boring, Mister,” Eric argues.

“The shop was here?”

Eric takes an exaggerated sip of his coffee and raises an eyebrow.

“All right, I took a few months after I retired to mope and become one with my couch. My parents finally suggested I invest in a business as a way to get me out of the house. I initially thought I would sell sports memorabilia. Between my dad and I, we’ve acquired a lot of stuff we don’t really need. But when I started looking into opening a shop, I saw this place for sale instead. The owners were an older couple who wanted to retire and move to Florida, and they really just wanted somebody who would appreciate the store and keep it open. After spending my career on the road and in the spotlight, a slower pace seemed nice. And —” this is the part that is occasionally awkward “— I don’t have to worry about money, really, so I’m not too worried about meeting my quotas to make rent. I don’t make much of a profit; most months it’s a wash. But I like it.”

“You don’t _have_ to work,” Eric says, as though he’s realizing this for the first time. 

Jack shakes his head. “I’ve invested my money carefully and try to be reasonable about the way I use it. A lot of young guys go a little crazy when they get that first big NHL paycheck, but I made all of my stupid decisions _before_ I got drafted.”

“You? Impossible.”

“Someday I’ll tell you the whole story. I almost didn’t make it to the draft. I started looking at colleges instead. I always thought it would be fun to study history.”

“I can recommend a program if you ever want to do it," Eric says with a wink. “I was an American studies major, myself.”

“Yet you work in marketing?”

“See, that’s _my_ interesting story. I took a few classes about the history of food and ended up getting a social media internship with America’s Test Kitchen the summer after my junior year. It was a good fit. My supervisor there knew my manager at my current job and put in a good word when I graduated. I manage a lot of our food-based social media accounts. Do you drink juice?” Eric names a popular orange juice brand. “I run that Instagram. I work with our graphic designers to style photo shoots and write the captions, reply to the comments, that sort of thing.”

Jack barely uses his Instagram account and only has the vaguest notion that companies use it to promote their products. Until now, he hadn’t realized they hired people like Eric to take care of those things. When he says so, Eric smirks.

“You know, I figured you might not be too comfortable with social media. I tried to find the shop on Instagram and didn’t see anything.”

“Should I have an Instagram?”

“It wouldn’t hurt. You can post some photos of the merchandise. New arrivals, or even older stuff that’s been sitting here a while. I can help you get started. If you want.” 

Jack doesn’t really see the benefit of an Instagram account but … if he says yes, Eric will come back.

Eric will probably come back anyway. That seems like a given. He pretends to consider it for a beat too long, to avoid seeming overly enthusiastic. “Yes. I’d love that.

They make plans to meet next Wednesday, after Eric gets off of work. The shop will be closed by then.

Before Eric leaves, he takes his usual look around the shop. Jack is startled when he hears a shriek. “Lord in heaven, what is _this_?” Eric asks.

Jack can just see the top of Eric’s head over in the corner where he keeps an old aluminum Christmas tree festooned with ornaments. He makes his way over there. “Find something you like?”

“What _is_ this?” Eric repeats, thrusting a macabre-looking Victorian clown ornament in Jack’s face.

“It was in a box of items a grieving family brought in. I didn’t have the heart to tell them it might scare away the customers.”

“You could have and _should_ have,” Eric says decisively. He shudders and gently hangs the ornament out of view in a spot near the back. “You’re gonna drive all the customers away with that thing.”

Jack smirks. “Let me know if you find anything you actually want to buy.”

A few minutes later, Eric gets his attention again. “Jack,” he calls from the back, “do you ever get vintage Pyrex? The real valuable stuff, I mean.” He walks up to Jack holding a casserole dish. “These are great, but this pattern is pretty common. If you ever get any of the more unusual pieces, will you hold them for me?”

Jack isn’t _that_  well-versed in the scarcity and relative value of vintage Pyrex, but if Eric asks, he can deliver. “Of course,” he says.  

“And I’ll take this, I guess.” He looks a bit sheepish as he places the clown ornament on the counter.

Jack raises an eyebrow.

“You hush. It’s going to give me nightmares, but my friend Larissa can probably use it in her art.” Jack laughs at that. It takes a lot to pull a laugh out of him, but Eric does it with ease. He wishes he didn’t have to wait a week to see him again.

 

Jack usually goes to bed at a reasonable hour. Years of a strict schedule conditioned him to get up early for his morning run, even though he doesn’t _need_ to keep up with his daily workouts anymore. But it’s after midnight and he’s somehow fallen down a rabbit hole of vintage Pyrex blogs and eBay listings in an attempt to better recognize some of the more elusive pieces, should they ever end up in his shop.

His heart nearly stops when he stumbles upon an eBay listing for what he’s just learned is one of the rarest examples of the cookware: a round casserole dish printed with green clovers and pink hearts. The pattern is called “Lucky in Love,” and the production run was limited. According to a blog post he read earlier this evening, the last known dish like this sold for over $4,000.

Jack isn’t so sure about conducting a transaction with a seller who goes by Johnson420, but the guy has a 100 percent positive feedback rating so he sends him an inquiry:

“Is the $5,000 asking price for the Lucky in Love piece firm? I own a small shop in Providence and am happy to pay, but I’m also willing to trade.”

The reply is almost immediate: “$5,000 is the starting bid. If you’d like to make an offer, I’ll consider it.”

Jack considers. It’s a ridiculous gift for somebody he barely knows. And yet …

He carefully types a number into his reply and waits. A few minutes later, Johnson420’s response comes through: “I can sell this for a lot more if it goes to auction. But you seem like a nice guy and my gut is telling me it belongs with you. Go ahead and make the offer on the auction page and I’ll accept it.”

 

On Wednesday evening, Eric arrives carrying a fancy DSLR camera and a carton of orange juice. “Did I tell you I work on an orange juice account?” he asks, holding the juice aloft. “They sent us samples.”

Jack chuckles. “Are you capable of coming in here without food or drink of some sort?”

Eric looks absolutely scandalized. “No, sir. What kind of Southern gentleman would I be if I didn’t come without some sort of gift?”

Jack shakes his head. “You’re already helping me. Maybe next time let me treat you, eh?”

Eric lets that remark go and sets both his camera and the juice on the counter. “The juice actually does have a purpose. I was thinking about your inventory, and remembered that glass pitcher you have with the oranges printed all over. Do you still have it?”

Jack knows the item Eric’s talking about; the bright, cheerful print had somehow reminded him of Eric when it had come in and he’d even thought about setting it aside for him.

“All right,” Eric says, heading over to the shelf and pulling the pitcher down. He grabs two juice glasses and looks around. “Let’s use this table.”

Jack follows him to the old farmhouse table that nobody’s inquired about for weeks and watches Eric set everything up. “Do you mind if I put the juice in here?” he asks. “I can take it home and wash it for you.”

“I can take it home with me,” Jack says. “I kind of like it.”

When Eric is satisfied with his arrangement, he takes several photographs from different angles. Then he sits on one of the long benches and gestures for Jack to join him.

“Let me know when you see one you like,” he says, scrolling through the shots. “Then I can send it to my phone and we can edit it. Have you thought about a hashtag for the store?”

“Uh — oh, I like _that_ picture — not really.”

“Let me guess, Mr. Hockey Pants here doesn’t know what a hashtag is?”

“It goes after the caption?”

Eric laughs so hard he turns red. “Good thing I already came up with one.” He finishes editing the photo Jack selected and imports it into the Instagram account he’s set up for Jack. He begins typing rapidly while Jack watches over his shoulder.

“Bring a little sunshine to your morning with this vintage Pyrex juice carafe. Carafe, juice glasses, and dining set all available at Something Old Vintage on Main. Open 10-5, Wednesday-Saturday and by appointment. #whatsoldisnewagain"

“I like it,” Jack says.

“Should we try a few more?”

The rest of the photo shoot is … Well, it’s not the serious shoot Jack envisioned. Eric takes the assignment seriously, but Jack soon learns he likes to have a little fun with his photos when he hands Jack an old children’s book and asks him to read it. “Just sit right there in that chair and … I know, pretend like you’re reading to these toys!” He lines up a rocking horse, a Jack-in-the-Box, and an old doll on the floor at Jack’s feet.

“Really?” Jack tries for gruff but it comes out amused.

“Show ‘em you have a little personality. 

Jack sits stiffly and pretends to “read” the book.

“Lord, you’re hopeless. I thought your mama was a model. You got her looks, honey, but you didn’t get her acting ability, did you?”

“There’s a reason I followed in my _father’s_ footsteps.”

“Didn’t you ever have to do photo shoots when you were playing hockey?”

“All the time. I hated it.”

Eric giggles again. Jack likes making him laugh. He’d be happy to make him laugh like that for the rest of his life. “Well, maybe just hold the book a little higher so we can’t see how petrified you look. And relax those shoulders a little. Would you sit like that if you were reading to a child?”

“But I’m not reading to a child. I’m reading to toys.”

“I’m gonna stand right behind them and take the picture from that angle. Pretend you’re reading to me.”

So Jack opens the book and begins to read the story about two kittens who like to paint. He feels a little silly, but it’s easier knowing Eric’s listening. Eventually, he forgets about Eric altogether, until he turns the last page and hears applause.

“That was adorable. You’re a natural,” Eric praises him. He guides him to an old board game. “How about we set this up like there’s a game in progress?” They make quick work of setting up the board — Jack reads the instructions to make sure their placement of the pieces looks authentic while Eric adjusts the settings on the camera — and take a few more pictures.

“Your turn,” Jack says, taking the camera from him. “It’s only fair.”

“Oh, I’m not really… You’re the one with the model genes,” Eric tries to protest.

“You look great,” Jack says. He points to a leather jacket from the 1930s that looks about Eric’s size. “Put that on.” 

Eric raises an eyebrow but complies. “I’m feelin’ a little like Indiana Jones here,” he says.

“I always kind of had a crush on Indiana Jones,” Jack says. He’s trying for casual but doesn’t miss the way Eric’s eyes widen at the revelation.

“Lord, doesn’t everyone? I might’ve figured you’d be more into Marion, though.”

“I, uh... I think it was that movie that made me realize I was into both,” Jack says.

“ _Oh_ ,” is all Eric says. 

“Let’s go outside where the lighting is better.” Eric doesn’t know he’s not the only photographer here. Jack may not be the best at social media, but he’s always enjoyed photography and used to take his camera on roadies. 

He guides Eric to the side of the building and poses him against the brick wall. The natural light plays off of Eric’s blond hair and illuminates him with the same warmth Jack always feels in Eric’s presence. He can tell Eric is a little self-conscious so he talks to him as he works. “You _could_ model,” he insists. “If my mother were here, she’d tell you how much she pays to get natural highlights like yours.”

Eric sticks his tongue out at Jack and the camera, and he gets a picture of that, too. 

They’re walking back around the building to go inside when Eric says it. “I saw all those movies, and I remember Indy being quite the charmer who always got the girl. I know you’re a _guy_ , but…”

“Yes.”

“Let me finish!” Eric shoves him a little. “Gosh, you’re solid. Anyway, Jack, Indy was pretty lucky in love and maybe this jacket is making me feel a little bold, but would you like to go to dinner with me tonight?”

 _Lucky in love_. It feels like a sign.

“Yes,” Jack says again.

 

On their first anniversary, Jack pulls a box out of the bedroom closet. It’s been sitting there for a year, and now feels like the right time to give it to Eric. They have a lot to celebrate. After a year of mostly long distance, with a lot of overnights, Eric finally asked for and received a transfer to his company’s Providence office. And, thanks in part to Eric’s efforts, Jack’s store has turned a profit every month for the past year. 

Eric moved the last of his things into Jack’s apartment last week. Over the past year, they’ve slowly gotten rid of the IKEA plates and cheap kitchen tools Jack purchased a decade ago (Eric had chirped him about his Stop & Shop cheese grater for _days_ ) and replaced them with Eric’s vintage finds and a few quality newer items. Last weekend they took delivery of furniture they chose together; it’s much more their style than the expensive-but-generic things the decorator chose for him when he bought the place. For the first time, the place really feels like a home. Although Jack supposes that has a lot to do with the man who now shares it with him. 

They celebrate with champagne and a pie baked in Eric’s very first purchase. “I thought we said no gifts,” Eric says when Jack brings the box out. 

Jack sits next to Eric on the couch and puts the box in his lap. “I’ve actually had this a while.” Jack does not want to tell Eric that, in his typical fashion, he spent more than $5,000 on a gift before they even went on a date.

“It’s a good thing I got you something too,” Eric says, moving the box to the coffee table. “I’ll go get it.” He runs to their bedroom and returns with a large square box. “Do you want to go first, or should I?”

“Open yours first,” Jack insists. “I’ve been waiting to give this to you for way too long.”

Eric narrows his eyes. He knows, by now, exactly how spontaneous Jack can be when he gets an idea in his head.

“Just open it.”

Eric’s (perfect) mouth makes a little ‘O’ of surprise when he lifts out the casserole dish. “Oh, _honey_.” He turns it around and around, admiring it from every angle.

"You asked me to keep my eye out for something rare,” Jack reminds him.

“You’re ridiculous!” He leans into Jack, hard, and laughs when Jack barely moves. “Don’t think I don’t have an alert for when one of these gets listed on eBay! How’d you even get this?” He carefully sets the dish back in the box and moves it to the floor.

Jack shrugs. “I made a private offer. I didn’t know if I would be ever be able to give it to you, but I hoped.”

“I didn’t expect you to find this,” Eric says settling into Jack’s side. “I just wanted an excuse to keep seeing you.”

“I guess we both got lucky in love,” Jack says.

Eric rolls his eyes at the terrible pun but grins. “Speaking of, I have a feeling you’re about to get _very_ lucky.”

“Yeah?”

“Open your present.”

Jack feels his face heat up when he sees a fedora atop the leather jacket from last year’s photo shoot. He sets the hat on his head but Eric takes it off and puts it on his own.

“It's really a present for both of us," he says with a smirk. “There's more under the jacket.”

And, _oh_ , there is more. A pair of tiny leather shorts and a few other things that complete the costume.

“Still have that crush on Indiana Jones?” Eric asks. Jack is going to kiss the smirk off his face as soon as he can breathe properly. As it is, all he can do right now is nod.

“Let’s save the pie for later and take this into the other room,” Eric says, slipping into the jacket and grabbing the box with the rest of Jack’s gift. Jack follows him, more smitten than ever.

Lucky in love, indeed.


End file.
